Playing with Fire
by Araceil
Summary: Harry notices some oddities to his mind and memories, gaps and misunderstandings and things that just don't add up. When everything is said and done, he goes to a Healer, and learns that Dumbledore's manipulations run a lot deeper than anyone could have imagined. Reborn/Harry.
1. Chapter 1

_**000**_

 **Playing With Fire**

 _ **000**_

Harry notices some oddities to his mind and memories, gaps and misunderstandings and things that just don't add up. When everything is said and done, he goes to a Healer, and learns that Dumbledore's manipulations run a lot deeper than anyone could have imagined. Reborn/Harry.

 _ **000**_

 _I do not own Harry Potter, or Katekyo Hitman REBORN. I'm just playing in the sandbox._

 _ **000**_

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Well, he'd gotten himself into a fine mess this time, hadn't he?

He sighed, fingers wrapped around the hot chocolate the waitress had brought over and stared out of the window at the passing club-goers and the ominous dark clouds he could see in the light pollution overhead. He had lost his temper again, stormed off, ended up walking for a good hour until he calmed down enough and found himself no longer in Little Whinging, but Surrey City Centre, lost amidst student pub crawls and clubbers in six inch heels and sparkly miniskirts. He'd hoped to find a café but none were open at this time of night, so he ended up ducking into a dessert parlour that advertised its opening hours until midnight every night.

The smell of fresh waffles and chocolate sauce had done a lot for calming his temper as he found himself a seat and just slumped down in place, gripping his hair by the roots as he tried to think of what to do.

They'd expelled him. They _expelled_ him! For _defending_ himself! And then Dumbledore, _Sirius_ , they all act like he was some kind of misbehaving kid who shouldn't have been playing with the butter knife! Like it was _his_ fault that he had been attacked! He'd had to take a deep breath and just close his eyes before he started grinding his teeth, or screamed. That would have been a good way to get himself thrown out.

Then Vernon told him to get out.

And, his blood boiling in his veins, his head _throbbing_ , he gladly went. Storming away from Privet Drive, wand in hand, nothing but the clothes on his back and a handful of change, he left. And he didn't look back until he was almost three miles away down the main road into Surrey.

"Here ya go my love, one Choco Banana waffle with vanilla ice cream. Is there anything else I can get for you?" his waitress asked, far too chirpily for this time of night, Harry felt.

"No, thank you," he told her, smiling as she left him to his own devices. He had spent ten minutes staring at the menu in a daze before making his way to the counter and choosing the one that sounded the best. His hot chocolate was served to him almost immediately, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, it was the kind that Aunt Petunia would have favoured. Bitter, dark chocolate. But it was warm, and that was all Harry cared about as he gripped the glass dessert mug it had been served to him in as he stared down at the fresh waffle topped with sliced banana and smothered in melted milk chocolate sauce, two scoops of vanilla gelato to the side, and a single bright red strawberry as a decorative garnish.

Now that it was in front of him, he wasn't sure if he wanted to eat it. It looked more than a little sickly.

"Hey babe, since you don't seem so keen on your own, let's play a fruit game... I'll pop your cherry with my banana?" a male voice suggested as someone passed him, Harry had perhaps a second to realise this person was talking to _him_ before they were sat opposite, a tanned hand snaking out to steal the strawberry off his plate. The older boy gave him an exaggerated wink as he licked a smear of icecream off and stuck it in his mouth.

Harry stared.

That was a strawberry. Not a cherry. He got the line wrong.

A long silence stretched out between them as the other guy seemed to realise that... he wasn't eating a cherry. Harry saw him glance down at the leaves in-between his fingers and then look up at him warily to see if he'd noticed. Harry stared.

The guy slowly started turning redder and redder as he realised he'd messed up and been caught.

May as well put him out of his misery. Harry had heard worse from the twins after all.

"If you're going to steal my cherry, you're going to have to come up with a much better line than that, I'm afraid," he told the older boy dryly, watching as his eyes widened, face going full on brick red as he choked on the strawberry still in his mouth.

Harry snorted, shaking his head in faux disappointment as a sly smirk curled the corner of his mouth, "Choking on it already," he mused, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it with... practice," he purred, smirk becoming toothy when the older boy began to cough, eyes wide, practically reinventing the colour red with his face alone. "A lot of practice," Harry added, eyebrow climbing up his forehead as he leaned back in amusement. Was this how the twins felt whenever they got their Housemates all flustered? If so, he could _definitely_ understand why they flirted with anything that moved, this was unexpectedly entertaining in a slightly cruel way.

It didn't hurt that the older guy was... cute. And clearly not used to having someone turn his own 'lines' back on him. Probably about seventeen, maybe eighteen, he had tanned skin, short spiky black hair that put Harry in mind of a porcupine, and the faintest curl to his rather sorry attempt to grow out his own sideburns. Dark eyes, a thin straight nose, and sharp cheekbones. He wore a plain black suit, white shirt, and a black tie. He also had one of the most confused, and somewhat offended 'Bambi' expression Harry had ever seen.

God, no wonder Fred and George did this so much.

He floundered, mouth opening and closing as his eyes skittered this way and that, searching for some kind of come back to that before Harry put him out of his misery and started to laugh.

"Honestly, don't dish it if you can't take it. With reactions like that you'd be eaten alive," he scolded mirthfully as he took up his knife and fork and finally cut into his choco-banana waffle.

"Well, as long as _you_ were the one doing the eating, I don't think I would mind so much," the older boy managed to quip, semi-glaring at him while he blushed.

Harry burst out laughing, "That's the Spirit!" he praised, "Be shameless and apologise for nothing. No matter how awful. Looks like we'll be able to make something of you yet!" he proclaimed with a chuckle as he ate the first mouthful of his waffle. Yup. Sickeningly sweet. He would probably only get half-way through this.

"And if I said I was awful in bed, would you make something of me there too?" he asked quickly, before realising his mistake and turning traffic light red in horror, "No! I didn't mean - !" he spluttered desperately while Harry roared with laughter. "Goddamnit," he cursed, dropping his head down to the table with a thunk of wounded pride, the tips of his ears positively _glowing_ as Harry cried with laughter trying to fan the mortified teenager with a menu – only to end up hitting him by accident instead.

"You're adorable. Completely incompetent, but adorable," Harry informed him with a gasp, "I'm Harry," he introduced as the other's head snapped up in offence at being called incompetent.

"...Renato," he mumbled, the wind taken neatly out of his sails.

"Nice to meet you, and thanks. I needed that after today," he said, still chuckling helplessly as he wiped his eyes, shoulders shaking with mirth.

Renato glowered a little even as he straightened up, pleased, "Glad I could entertain," he muttered a little sourly before a sly look flickered over his face, "I can think of better things to entertain you with though," he threw out with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows even as under the table he slid an ankle up the inside of Harry's calf.

Harry's eyes widened as a fissure of _something_ licked up his leg and tingled across his nerves, making him flinch and gasp like someone had cast an underpowered tickling charm on him. Renato's smile widened into a grin of excitement and delight when the Gryffindor jerked back and stared at him in shock.

"I – I've – had quite enough entertainment with your idea of flirting to be honest," he recovered quickly, plastering on a slightly awkward and unnerved smile onto his lips. Was that magic? He couldn't think of any magic that could be used without a wand, excepting the Animagus transformation. And he didn't think Renato was Magical, he just didn't fit with that crowd. His suit and jacket were tailored to fit a surprisingly athletic form, he wore them comfortably and correctly, he even had cufflinks and a tie-clip. Mister Weasley couldn't even fathom the use of a rubberduck, and even Fudge who arguably had the most exposure to Suit Culture what with the fact he had to liaise with the muggle Prime Minister a lot didn't know how to wear one properly (lime green pinstripes? No muggle tailor in their right mind would allow such a thing). It didn't feel harmful though, he kind of felt warm, and tingly, and more than a little bit restless, as if he'd had one too many chocolate frogs to be honest.

"You're still talking to me, so I can't have been doing too badly?" Renato asked hopefully, grinning as he snagged a finger of icecream from Harry's thus far forgotten waffle. The Gryffindor snorted and pulled the plate further away from unwanted fingers, he paid for it so he was darn well going to eat it, even if it made him queasy later.

"It was a train wreck from start to finish," Harry told him with mock-severity as he neatly cut into his waffle again and began to eat, "I've had eleven year old throw better pick-up lines my way." And he really, really had. Ginny's poetry from Lockhart's farce of a Valentine's Day event was still sung in the Common Room even now. To say nothing of the ballsy little bastards that came in with every new September, most of them encouraged by the Weasley twins to throw a pass (or thirty) his way.

Renato went quiet for a moment, and Harry glanced up, a little worried that he had gone too far with that quip and actually upset him, but instead he received another nudge to his leg and a wave of that tingly... 'fizzing' across his skin that had him flinching down into himself with a squeak. The dark haired teenager grinned at him, eyes glinting with smug satisfaction, "But they're good enough to make you all tingly inside," he pointed out wolfishly.

Harry bared his teeth at him in a grin, "With hilarity, yes," he retorted as he fought the urge to rub his hands across his arms and legs. It was like the worst case of pins and needles, the ticklish kind.

He floundered, scratching around for a comeback while trying to avoid eyecontact before, "we-well, they say the fastest way to a man's heart is to make him laugh?"

Harry snorted, "That's girls. The fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach," he informed the teenager dryly as he pointedly cut himself another piece of waffle and ate it.

The disbelieving once over he received for that made him flush a little, yes, he knew he was a frickin' stick insect that would probably snap the second someone got too handsy with him, or so Molly kept declaring, loudly, as she piled his plate high with sausages. There was a rustle of fabric and suddenly Harry was being crowded back against the window as Renato switched sides and slid into the booth on his side.

"I find it very hard to believe then, that you would be so thin. It's as if no one had attempted to get a date," he observed as a hand reached out to encircle his wrist, forefinger to thumb, with space to spare. Harry grimaced.

"Maybe none of them were good enough?" Harry suggested as he twisted his wrist free and picked up his drink.

Renato prodded his side, "Maybe your standards are too high?" he mused as Harry tried to squirm away without spilling his drink. "You're all skin and bones. Clearly you need someone to take care of you," he decided as the prodding finger laid flat against his ribs, just under his arm. Harry spluttered, offended that he _needed_ anyone to take care of him, leaning back against the window to get some space that was rapidly vanishing as Renato leaned in nose to nose, smirking, "I can do that."

He needed to invent a Spell. One that stopped people from blushing. Because he was pretty sure his face was roughly the same colour as his Quidditch uniform right now.

"Sorry, I'm high maintenance and the life insurance is pretty killer," he quipped in response. Last thing he wanted was a muggle getting on the wrong end of a Death Eater's wand because they decided they wanted to take care of him like some stray cat they found in their backgarden. Merlin, what was he even doing? Voldemort was on the rise, and he was in a fucking dessert parlour in the middle of Surrey city centre, on his own, no guards, expelled from Hogwarts, on the run from the Ministry, flirting with a muggle.

"I'm sure I could handle it," he stated smugly, brushing the tips of their noses together.

Harry chuckled a little nervously, he needed to go. He was putting these people in danger.

"Pretty sure you couldn't," Harry assured him, eyes flicking around for both escapes and threats. He didn't need another Cedric on his hands.

"You'd be surprised by what I could handle," he said, grinning as that fizzy tingly heat burned through Harry's T-shirt to dance across his ribs. He gasped, shuddering as Renato leaned even closer, pressing him against the glass, "and what I'm willing to handle," he added, his other hand sliding up Harry's thigh, fingers dipping down just a bit too far to be in any way innocent, leaving more burning trails of tingling pins and needles.

Flirting with words was one thing, but he had always been uncomfortable with people laying hands on him, even if they weren't _currently_ causing him any manner of pain – experience dictated that it was only a matter of time. Not even Molly was allowed to hold on to him for very long before he started squirming unhappily, like Crookshanks when trying to escape Hermione. But this was about as far as he was willing to let a stranger get away with, charming and clumsily adorable as they were. If Voldemort was able to send Dementors to Privet Drive when there were Blood Wards and Order Guards there to protect him, he didn't want to think about what would be coming for him now, in the open, without protection – or the number of people that would get hurt because of it. Hell, if any Death Eaters saw them right now, they would target Renato _specifically_. For his own safety, Harry needed to get away from him before he ended up like a certain Prefect.

How to do it though, he wondered as he tried to squirm away. Given how easily flustered he was... maybe he should ramp this up a bit? Get him so embarrassed that he leaves on his own? It could work. Maybe. Hopefully.

Harry caught his wandering hands as one attempted to go a little too north on his leg, and the other angled to the point of trying to tweak a nipple (Harry would headbutt him if he tried it, cute or not), a little surprised by how warm they were, and by how they were shaking a little.

He plastered on a sly smirk, one that once even had Fred turning bright crimson, even as he lifted the older teen's hands to his lips, "Your hands are trembling," he observed in a low purr even as he pressed his lips against his knuckles, idly noting how the shaking had stopped entirely, the other going completely rigid and motionless in his chair, "I don't think you should be handling anything right now. You shouldn't push yourself too _hard_ ," he scolded, putting extra emphasis on the last word.

It was almost like watching the aftermath of someone chugging a Pepper-up. At first it was a delicate shade of pink crawling up his neck to dust across his cheeks, and then it darkened into pale red, and bright red, and then dark red. Red, ReD, RED, _RED,_ _ **RED**_ _._ All that was missing was the steam coming out of his ears, though if it happened, Harry was pretty sure he wouldn't be surprised.

It was like something had stalled in him, Harry tried not to laugh as he nudged the older teenager. How was he going to get out if he didn't move? Harry nudged him a little harder, eyebrow lifting when the other rocked a little in place, but didn't even blink – or breathe.

He could always crawl under the table he supposed...

Tyres screeched on the street outside, multiple horns _tearing_ through the air.

Harry jumped violently, whipping around as if burnt, green eyes frantically tearing through the highstreet outside the window – men shouting at each other, clamouring students, a girl screamed.

But... no black cloaks... no white masks...

No Death Eaters.

Just... just a traffic incident. Two cars. The drivers now shouting and threatening one another, the screaming girl was being manhandled out of a near-by club by a Bouncer. The driver of the red car spat on the floor and climbed back in his car, shouting something foul at the other driver as he reversed back, and then drove around him and took a corner down towards the trainstation.

Just a traffic incident, nothing more, he told himself trying to relax, the muscle between his shoulderblades knotted with tension at the unwanted scare.

He stiffened again as he felt arms around him, and a chin rest on his shoulder. Apparently the incident outside had not only managed to startle Harry, but also jarred Renato out of his brain-stall. Sweet Morgana, just what was this guy's body temperature? It felt like he had his back pressed against a radiator.

"And what are _you_ so nervous about?" he asked lowly, his tone playful even as he tightened his grip and his eyes flickered up and down the street with a sharpness that – reminded Harry a little unsettlingly of himself as he craned his head back in order to get a look at the older teen's face. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because a second later he was flashing a smirk down at him, and pulling him a little more insistently into his lap, "If you're so worried about being out in the open, I have a hotel room not too far from here?" he suggested playfully.

Harry swallowed. It... It would get him out of the open, and mean less chance of collateral damage if Death Eaters really _did_ attack. If he didn't use his Wand, the Trace couldn't find him either, meaning the Ministry couldn't track hi down. Thinking about it, the Death Eaters probably _got_ his address from the Ministry, it would have been there, wouldn't it? If he didn't use his wand, it was probably _safer_ for him out here where no one knew where he was, no Snape to report back to Voldemort, no Ministry to leave his location lying around. No Order to drag him back to the Dursleys and Vernon's idea of a ' _reasonable disciplinary method for freaks_ '.

"You know what, fuck it, alright. Let's go," Harry declared firmly, pushing himself out of Renato's lap.

The teenager spluttered, "Hah? What – really?"

Harry's eyebrow shot up and, quick as a snake, he grabbed the dark eyed boy by his necktie and dragged him face to face, "What, you don't want to?" he asked coolly. After all that talk?

Renato flushed dark red as he shook his head, and then nodded very rapidly, looking distressed and confused, yet also very excited, yet confused. "Ah – Er – I _do_ , I just, someone so _clearly_ , err, I figured you were out of my _league_ , uhm," he spluttered. Harry flushed, no one had ever out and out said something like that to him, with the exception of the twins who had been joking at the time.

"Well batter up. Looks like you've made it to the Super-bowl," Harry declared briskly as he dropped the tie and let Renato sit back on the booth and just digest that for a moment.

His face lit up the second it finally registered properly.

 _ **000**_

 **First chapter finito!**

 **Young!Reborn, ahh, you're such a puppy. Not yet the suave individual we know you as. Still only a baby-hitman. Yes, Renato is what we have headcanoned Reborn's original name as – since Renato means Rebirth in Italian. XDDD**

My wife is a wicked temptress who nudged me into uploading this before I wanted to (she didn't have to try hard tbh, I DID want to upload it but my better sense was saying no).


	2. Chapter 2

_**000**_

 **Playing With Fire**

 _ **000**_

Harry notices some oddities to his mind and memories, gaps and misunderstandings and things that just don't add up. When everything is said and done, he goes to a Healer, and learns that Dumbledore's manipulations run a lot deeper than anyone could have imagined. Reborn/Harry.

 _ **000**_

 _I do not own Harry Potter, or Katekyo Hitman REBORN. I'm just playing in the sandbox._

 _ **000**_

 **CHAPTER TWO**

This... wasn't his bed...

Harry bolted upright out of the covers in horror as the events of the previous evening made themselves known.

"Oh my _god_! I shagged a complete _stranger_!" he squawked in horrified mortification, "I _ran_ _away_ with a complete stranger! Oh my god, Mrs Weasley is going to kill me... _Sirius_ is going to kill _him_!" he wheezed, gripping his face in both hands, nails digging into his skin. What had he done? Bloody hell! He'd _really_ fucked up this time! Emphasis on the _fucked_ part. Oh god, he was so screwed – in both senses of the word!

Where the bloody hell was he anyway?

After thoroughly wearing himself out with whatshisname – Remmy? Reno? Ren? – the older teenager had asked if he wanted to run away. Harry had _already_ been running away, so he'd agreed – he was a muggle, what was the worst that could happen? After facing down Voldemort on his own, there wasn't much that could frighten him these days, he'd already faced his worst fear (Dementors) and found a way to overcome them, and while in a straight up fight against Voldemort he would likely lose, but what were the chances of that snake faced old bastard finding him in the muggle world without the Ministry accepting bribes from Lucius Malfoy to take a peek at his records? The puppy-ish muggle teenager just wasn't registering, at all, on his threat scale. After that... things got a little hazy. Sleep fogged, exhausted and aching a little, wrapped in what he could distantly recognise as R-Ren(?)'s suit jacket, tucked under the boy's arm, he recalled shivering on train platforms, face planted in his chest, arms around him, waiting; slapping a ticket dispenser that disagreed with him into faulting and working to let them in when it refused to accept Ren's ticket, getting the older teen more and more flustered as he tried it again and again until Harry lost patience. Waking up huddled in his lap sat on the floor of a First Great Weston Train, sleepily asking where they were going and being told they were running away, which, well it was what he _was_ doing, so he didn't object, merely sleepily leaned into the kiss dropped onto his mouth and went back to sleep. Staggering on and off buses, rubbing his eyes furiously as he burrowed into the jacket, hand held tight as he was guided down pre-dawn empty pavements.

Which brought him... here. On what looked like a _boat_.

So. He ran away with Ren. They used trains, buses, and they also walked, and now it was a boat.

He could have been anywhere. He didn't think he was even in _England_ anymore.

Sirius was going to kill _both_ of them.

Mrs Weasley would bring them back and kill them again.

The room was a standard white painted hotel-room looking job, the bed was white and blue sailor striped, ropes and anchors were nailed to the wall as decorations, there were two bedside tables, a single round little window with no discernible way of opening it with a view of a dirty grey looking ocean, and a long table at the front of the room with a mirror set above it. He could see his clothes folded neatly on top.

Quickly scrambling out of the bed and into his clothes, he needed to find Ren and find out what the hell was going on, and where they were. He paused only briefly to memorise the small map next to the door. The ship was pretty small apparently, but that just made the map easier to commit to memory.

Stepping out of the room, the uniform white metal corridor was brightly lit with small electric lamps set into the steel-work and blessedly abandoned. A little nervous, he quickly made his way to the left and up a small set of stairs at the end of the corridor. Muscling open the significantly heavier, no doubt water tight, door he flinched a little when confronted with blazing early morning sunshine and a seagull screaming in his face. Lovely.

"Harry!" He had perhaps a moment to recognise the voice as he stepped out, shielding his eyes a little from the glare, and suddenly he was being bundled up again and kissed fiercely. Okay, _wow_ , that was a greeting and a half.

All the questions he wanted to ask the older teenager were completely forgotten as he reeled a bit in shock.

"Did you sleep well?" Ren asked grinning excitedly, cheeks a little flushed as he looked down at him.

"Ahh, y-yeah," Harry admitted. Best sleep in a while actually, no prickling in his scar, no anxiety, waking up and tossing and turning. He'd slept very well. Too tired to do anything but really. Only... "Where are we?" he asked a little weakly as he glanced around. It was a small passenger boat, a bit smaller than the red-funnel ferry he took once on a school trip to Le Havre in France, it probably only had something like fifty passengers, no cars. The ocean was a bluish greeny grey, which didn't tell him much about where they were, and the sky was pale blue and flawless with only a few distant misty wisps of cloud that looked more like thin lashes of pulled open cotton wool than clouds. And while he couldn't _see_ anyone... They were being watched, it was making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight and he did _not_ like it.

The older of the two flushed a little in embarrassment as he scratched the back of his neck, "Ah-haha... ha. Um. Y-you said you wanted to run away so... I figured I'd take you home, to my place," he explained hunching down a little, chagrined as he peered down at Harry. "Are you angry with me?" he asked quietly, seemingly aware that perhaps escorting someone when they were too tired and worn out to object to places and parts unknown was more than a little unappreciated by most. And very legally (and morally) frowned on in most civilised countries.

Harry shook his head, it would have felt like kicking a puppy if he'd done anything else, and... he was in the process of running away _anyway_. Ren just... sped it up considerably. And if _Harry_ didn't know where he was, then there was little chance of the Ministry or the Order knowing where he was either. "Just... confused, and a little worried. Where are we going?" he asked glancing over his shoulder, the anxious look devolving into a frown and then a scowl because someone was _definitely_ paying too much attention to them and it was starting to piss him off because he couldn't _see_ the bloody git and it was driving him crackers.

"Mafia Land, I have a flat on Violence Street in the Neutral District," Ren bragged happily, eagerly nosing into the side of Harry's neck now that he knew he wasn't in trouble.

"Mafia Land?" Harry echoed doubtfully, eyes still flicking around the deck in paranoia. "Sounds like one of those cheesy Film Noir gangster theme-parks," he observed. What kind of name for a road was 'Violence Street' anyway?

"You've never been to Mafia Land?" Ren questioned before grinning, "You're in for a treat then. One half of the island _is_ a theme park, the other is full of businesses, housing, docks, information brokers, even markets. You can get _anything_ on the island," he explained enthusiastically as Harry finally had enough of their watchers and began to pull the seventeen year old back into the bowels of the ship and their room, beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable as Renato told him about this Mafia Land at length – and how he was currently just a Journeyman in the Assassins' Guild but well on his way to attaining a Mastery, he just had to do a few more jobs and then his final Trial.

"I guess I'll have to hand in my notice now we're together," he mused as Harry closed the door to their cabin behind them, leaning back against the wood with a disturbed expression on his face. "Hey, do you think your Dad would let me continue to get my Mastery first?" he asked hopefully as he dropped back onto the bed, bouncing a little in place.

Harry swallowed against his dry throat, "My Dad is dead," he informed the older teenager flatly, trying to wrap his head around the fact he had willingly jumped into bed with what was apparently an assassin, a murderer, and somehow he hadn't twigged at all as to what kind of person he was. Usually his instincts were better than this, _how_ had he not _noticed_?! Oh god, he ran away with an _assassin_ , he _slept_ with a _murderer_! A murderer who was only a little older than him, truly terrible at flirting, and apparently didn't feel as if there was even a problem with the fact that he _killed_ people for _money_.

Ren paused, pulled up short and now feeling awkward and a little guilty, "Oh, I'm – I'm sorry for your loss... Your grandfather then? Or your mother?" he asked hesitantly, scratching at his unruly hair as the green eyed teenager continued to stare at him.

"Dead," he admitted.

"Then, who's in charge of your famiglia?" he demanded with increasing concern. There was no way someone would place a Guardian-less Sky at the head of a famiglia, that was too cruel, and way too dangerous.

"I don't have one."

"One what? A head?"

"A famiglia, whatever that is."

Renato gaped.

W-what? Was he _hearing_ this right?

His Sky, the ridiculously Pure, incredibly hot, Sky he found unaccompanied and twitchy as all hell, running away, wasn't in a Famiglia? Didn't even know what a famiglia was? Probably wasn't a member of any British family either because otherwise he'd be able to tell him who was the head of his group? That he was _actually_ running away from _home_ instead of his shitty ineffective bodyguards?

Did he even _have_ bodyguards?!

"A Mafia family. You have one, right?" he asked weakly. _Mio Dio_ , please say yes...

"No. My parents were Law enforcement. You're in the Mafia?" Harry demanded weakly even as a hundred and one ideas flashed through his mind of how to get out of this goddamn mess and back to England. His hand inched back to grip the door handle – he could run pretty fast... If he managed to get out and stow-away somewhere, he would just have to wait until they made dock, use a little magic, wait until whatever Ministry had jurisdiction came and then he would hopefully be taken back home.

Renato dragged a hand through his hair, terrified, giddy, excited, shocked, _horrified_ –

He'd found a first generation Sky.

A _civilian_ Sky. A teenage Sky who was in the process of going from Active to Useful with no Guardians, who was neither too beaten down to be terrified of him, or vicious enough to immediately reject him. A Sky with no ties to any Famiglia, or tradition to be upheld. Completely neutral.

He just found the motherfucking Holy Grail in a fucking dessert parlour.

God was smiling down on him for sure. He buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly. A Sky without a Famiglia, no traditions to be upheld, no Don to take orders from, no enemies to try and attack them, no allies to try and wedge themselves between them, no prior agreements or disagreements, no debts, nothing. An unbound Sky. And Renato was the lucky son of a bitch to find him!

"Ren?" Harry asked in concern, abandoning the door handle and cautiously approaching, unable to tell the difference between laughter and crying with it so muffled by the seventeen year old's hands over his face.

The older teenager made a strangled noise a split second before he launched himself off the bed, seizing the Gryffindor and showering his face with kisses, even as the younger of the two stumbled backwards in shock. He ended up bent over backwards against the table as Ren latched onto his mouth, kissing him deeply.

Keeping a coherent thought in his head was a lost cause after that. Ren's hands were _everywhere_ , leaving burning tingling trails of heat and sensation across his skin that made him shiver, even though the clothes that rapidly found themselves discarded on the floor (his shirt ended up landing and dangling from one of those decorative anchors on the wall).

It wasn't until considerably later, with a hot, sweaty, and very tired Sky tucked under his arm, the two of them sprawled across their decimated bedding, that it _really_ hit home for Renato. His Sky had no famiglia. No Guardians.

It was just him.

He was Harry's _only_ protector in the Mafia underworld, a world that would steal a Sky of his flame Purity in a heartbeat. A world that would hurt him – destroy him. On purpose, by accident, both and neither. But hurt him all the same. And Ren was the only thing that stood between Harry and the rest of the bottom feeders he was literally dragging him towards.

Shit.

He swallowed, tightening his grip around the fifteen year old's shoulder. He might be in over his head here. He was going to have to contact his old Master – hopefully be would keep neutral on the subject despite his new Famiglia leanings.

Damn. He was going to have to find a Home Tutor for Harry as well – having a Guardian do it just wasn't _done_. Too hazardous, and gave lack-lustre results. Guardians were notorious for either being too hard on their Skies, expecting them to be better than they actually were, or not hard enough, believing them too delicate and in need of protection. Tutors also looked for the best possible Guardian candidates, decent quality ones with stable flames and temperaments that would be able to Harmonize comfortably and naturally to their particular Sky. It wasn't as easy as just tossing a bunch of Flame Actives in a room with a Sky – that way often lead to the Sky getting killed, maimed, raped, or if they were Polarized, the potential Guardians getting killed or maimed.

Renato grimaced, gently tracing absent patterns across Harry's shoulder with his fingertips. He didn't like the idea of sharing his Sky with anyone. He found Harry, on his own. Their Harmonizing was uncommonly quick, occurring somewhen during their activities in the hotel room. It was the kind of connection that mafioso only read about in crummy romance stories, or heard in old legends – Harmony was something that took time and effort. It was very rarely something that occurred so quickly, or quite so easily. Especially for young Flame Users – even more so when the Sky wasn't a User.

His stomach growled demandingly, shattering the peaceful lazy mood like a hammer through glass. Being a Sun User meant his metabolism was through the roof, he ate like a whale in order to just keep up with his own level of activity – and he was going to need to eat quite a bit after his bedroom workouts these last two days. Poor Harry, he was still too worn out to go with him down to the mess hall, unable to keep up with his Sun's more active nature. And Renato was more energetic than most.

The Italian leaned down, gently brushing hair from his Sky's sweaty forehead and pressing a kiss over that oddly shaped scar on his brow, "Do you want something to eat? I'll go and get it from the restaurant for you," he offered softly, feeling the younger teenager stir against him.

"I'm okay, don't worry about - " he began to say, shifting uncomfortably a moment before his stomach gave off a very _loud_ plaintive growl. He flushed as Renato snickered, "Something to drink would be nice," he mumbled, embarrassed now.

He felt Ren shift and slide out from under him, adjusting the bedding as he went and tucking him back in, "I'll get you a fry up, how does that sound? Apple juice or orange?" he asked as he went about hunting for his clothes.

"Orange, please," Harry said, watching him move into the bathroom to get cleaned up quickly and coming out fully dressed.

The seventeen year old leaned over and used a free hand to tilt Harry's chin enough to kiss him on the mouth, "I'll be back soon, I'll let myself in so don't worry about answering the door if anyone knocks," he assured the young Sky, gently bumping noses with him before pulling away.

Harry watched him leave before awkwardly pushing himself upright, grimacing as everything below his ribs and above his knees _ached_ and _throbbed_ in discomfort. He needed a shower, and the bathroom.

He felt weirdly loose and rubbery as he staggered into the small en-suite, spending an uncomfortable three minutes on the toilet as he, erm, well... what went in had to come out, that was painful. He hadn't expected that. Was it because he had been a virgin twenty-four hours ago and Ren was decidedly... enthusiastic in demonstrating his affections? Either way, when he was done he flushed and quickly stumbled into the shower, desperate to get cleaned up.

He turned the shower on, letting it run to heat up, and rummaged some shower gel and shampoo out from behind the mirror cabinet. Regular little hotel style bottles that all had that generic 'clean' smell. He stacked them on the little shelf behind the shower curtain before gratefully staggering into the spray – leaning against the cold tiles as hot water pounded across his back.

He had run away from home.

He had been thrown out _first_ , but he'd still run away from home.

He had been expelled from Hogwarts.

He had... _eloped_ with a stranger – an assassin.

He had _slept_ with an assassin, _twice_ , and lost his virginity to him after having only known him twenty minutes.

He had run away after getting expelled from school and kicked out of the house, ended up in bed with a murderer, and now they were who knows where (definitely not England) going to a place called 'Mafia Land' which was _exactly_ what it sounded like.

Harry thought he could be forgiven the panic attack he had when all this finally sunk in properly.

How did he get himself _INTO_ these messes?!

 _ **000**_

Harry had by no means calmed down when Renato came back with their breakfast, he just turned the volume down on his freaking out. Crouched in the now long cold shower, pulling at his still unwashed hair and hyperventilating a quietly as possible. He was absurdly proud of himself for keeping his voice steady and normal when Ren called out to him. The other teenager had no idea how Harry currently felt about the situation and that was how he wanted to keep it. He didn't want to know how he would react to a negative opinion regarding his profession. He didn't _seem_ like the violent type, but there again, he didn't seem _like an assassin either!_ How could he have messed this up so bad? Why did Ren have to _tell_ him? He – goddamnit!

Harry dropped his head down onto his knees. He needed to stop freaking out, and start thinking about what next and how to make the best of it. It wasn't like he could rely on Dumbledore to come and save him, or Ron and Hermione to have his back, when none of them knew where he was.

Ren was determined to stick with him, he seemed to be under the impression they were an item now. If it kept things from nose diving into violence, Harry could deal with that, use it even. Plus, it wasn't like Ren was hard on the eyes, and Harry was genuinely attracted to him. He'd never clicked so well with anyone, not even Ron. It was just the whole criminal assassin thing he just couldn't get past. So, he would continue this thing with Ren for however long he had to.

Mafia Land. Oh boy. He needed more information, but surely if they were criminals there would be _some_ kind of magical presence there – it was only too easy to use magic for nefarious purposes against muggles. It wasn't like they could defend themselves, or the Ministry of Magic particularly cared unless it broke the Secrecy Laws. Should he make himself known in the hopes of finding a way home? Or should he keep his head down in case there were Death Eater sympathisers, or desperate unscrupulous types who would have no problem presenting him to Death Eaters for a quick sickle? Maybe he should poke his nose around, see if he couldn't get hold of some weapons or something to use against Voldemort? Would guns be effective? Could Shield Charms protect against bullets? Hmmm...

"Harry? Are you... okay?" Ren called anxiously through the door.

"Huh? Ah – y-yes! Yes, just lost in thought!" he called back, frantically grabbing the shampoo and giving his hair a scrub. He'd been in there too long, Ren was getting suspicious (of what, Harry didn't know, and he very pointedly ignored the voice in the back of his head calling him a paranoid idiot, that Ren wouldn't hurt him so CALM DOWN!). He quickly washed and scrubbed as if it were post-Quidditch Practice and Hermione was stood outside waiting for him. It was only when he was towelling off that he realised another, not so small, problem.

He was here with nothing but his wand and the shirt on his back. Both of which were somewhere on the floor in the other room, and dirty.

"Bloody hell," he complained under his breath as he dragged a hand through his wet hair. He really _had_ landed himself in it this time. How was he supposed to feed himself, keep a roof over his head, even get home, without a penny to his name?

Wrapped in a pair of towels, one around his waist and the other draped over his head and shoulders, he peeked warily out of the bathroom like a nervous cat – spotting the tray of food on the table, and a nervous somewhat hurt looking Ren sat on the bed, wringing his hands. Harry frowned a little, why did he look so...

"What's wrong?" he asked, coming fully into the room, edging forwards but not too close – Ren had already proven himself alarmingly quick, stronger than him, and annoyingly capable of turning him into a desperately squirming noisy puddle of raw nerves and desire with just a few touches.

"You're... not happy, about me. Us," the seventeen year old observed sadly.

Harry leaned back against the wall behind him, folding his arms. Ah. He should have expected this. Ren _was_ an assassin, he was probably pretty skilled at reading facial expressions and body language. Telling a bold faced lie to him would probably be impossible. Well shit, there went his idea to play it safe.

"The whole assassin thing threw me," Harry explained coolly, making Ren twitch and cringe. "My parents _were_ Law Enforcement before they were murdered. I had a pretty normal upbringing, so I hope you can understand why I would be freaking out a bit over sleeping with someone who kills for money," he stated flatly refusing, _refusing_ , to feel guilty as Ren flinched and recoiled into himself more and more, looking pained and miserable. "Given the fact that their murderer has been trying with increasing frequency to my over the last few years, I'll be blunt, my first thought was wondering whether or not you were going to try and kill me. I still kind of do - "

"NO!" Ren yelled, nearly throwing himself off the bed, uncurling himself almost violently as he shot upright, hands gripping the bedcovers tight enough to tear them as he forcibly restrained himself from grabbing the Sky who skittered away towards the door, eyeing him warily. His mouth tasted metallic, he wanted to vomit. Harry thought he would hurt – that he would kill – "No, no, never, never," he refused, shaking his head. "I – I _had_ a job there. A turf war between Yardies and the Sicilian Mafia, the Sicilians hired me to take out the Yardies head in that area. I don't take civilian targets! Ever!" he promised. Taking civilian targets put Omerta at risk when you were a Flame User, the Vindice did not take kindly to Flame Users running around spontaneously combusting all over public locations.

Harry grimaced, "You still..."

Ren grimaced as well, settling back down on the bedding, "Things are different when you're born into it... Some would say all killing is bad, is wrong. But Right and Wrong are interchangeable and ambivalent. Nothing is ever black and white. I kill people for money, yes. I kill very bad people, may they burn in hell. But I would _never_ hurt you, I swear," he vowed, staring up at the young Sky opposite him, trying to impress on him through the intensity of his eyes how serious he was about that. He couldn't. Wouldn't. Harry was _his_ Sky. Renato couldn't hurt him, even if there was a gun to his head. He would sooner take the bullet.

Something must have made it through because the green eyed teenager relaxed, and shifted away from the door he had in a death-grip only seconds before hand.

"Alright. I'll be holding you to that though," he warned the young Hitman seriously, eyes almost green-gold in the light.

 _ **000**_

 **In which the characters hijacked the end of the chapter somewhat. Yeah, sorry about the delay on uploading. Like I said, Waifu had me updating before I wanted to – I had no plan or plot for the rest of the fic apart from SIGNIFICANTLY later, like, last chapters later.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**000**_

 **Playing With Fire**

 _ **000**_

Harry notices some oddities to his mind and memories, gaps and misunderstandings and things that just don't add up. When everything is said and done, he goes to a Healer, and learns that Dumbledore's manipulations run a lot deeper than anyone could have imagined. Reborn/Harry.

 _ **000**_

 _I do not own Harry Potter, or Katekyo Hitman REBORN. I'm just playing in the sandbox._

 _ **000**_

 **CHAPTER THREE**

They ate in awkward silence, unsure of how to speak to each other after the serious conversations that had taken place previously. Renato desperately wanted to continue reassuring Harry that he would never harm him, but one look at the Sky's face and he clammed up like a Nun confronted with a red light district. He couldn't find the words, let alone the courage, to talk to him now. Now that Renato knew that Harry thought he was scum.

What could he even say at this point? There was a reason relationships between civilians and mafioso were frowned on, not only was breaking Omerta tantamount to suicide, but there was also the culture clash – as seen here. Civilians couldn't come to terms with their less than legal activities. Like he told Harry, it was different when you were born into it, it was different when you were raised in it. Yes it was illegal, yes it probably hurt a lot of people, but they weren't _his_ people, they weren't people he gave a shit about, so what did it matter? Like his father said before his death, ' _They ain't my people, and they sure as hell ain't my kids. Fuck 'em_ '. But how did he go about explaining that to Harry without driving him off? Because, believe it or not, Renato was getting the sincere vibe from his Sky that he was the type of person who would take a bullet for a stranger. One of those amazing selfless _pure_ people who genuinely believed in the good in everyone – and would inevitably drive his Guardians grey with stress before they even reached thirty.

And... it wasn't like he could back out now. He still had four more years on his contract with the Guild. Without the backing of a Don, no matter what kind of standing, to sign him off, Renato couldn't leave. If he did, he would find himself the target of his own Guild Mates, many of whom already didn't like him, especially the senior assassins who felt threatened by how quickly he was bridging the gap between himself and them. They might go after him just because even if he did leave – or worse, Harry.

He refrained from sighing, but only just. When he'd signed that ten year contract with the Guild, he hadn't thought even for a second that he would find a Sky, ever. He was from a very small family line, not famiglia, an actual family, all of whom were Flame Users, none of whom had found a Sky able to match them – his mother explained it that... because of the way they were raised, the abuses their ancestors suffered during the wars, they had an unusual abundance of Dying Will. ' _Determination enough to move mountains, boil the oceans, blacken the skies,_ ' she told him quietly as she explained to him that he would never find a Sky able to match him, that they, she and he, and their grandparents before them, were too good, too strong, for the so called Lords of the Mafia. That it was the curse of their family, to forever be without Harmony. And if ever they were to taste it, even for a moment, it would be _taken_ , and they would be plunged into Hell on Earth.

Stupid superstition.

But there was a voice in the back of his head gibbering a little fearfully. What if Harry Rejected him? Broke their Harmony and drove him into Discord? Civilians didn't understand these things, and they could be breathtakingly cruel in their thoughtless self-righteousness. Was Discord the 'Hell on Earth' his mother warned him of?

Did Harry even know enough about his Flame to do something like that?

Renato paused, that was a thought. Because they'd Harmonized, he'd never even considered the fact that Harry may be unaware. He knew that he was just on the cusp of being able to Use his flames, and that they were ridiculously pure and strong – otherwise their Harmony would have just collapsed under the weight of Renato's own flame, burnt itself out, or wouldn't have even joined, Harry's presence would just be drowned out by his own.

Did Harry even _know_ about flames?

The sound of knife and fork clattering on plate drew him out of his thoughts as Harry set his plate to one side. He was still dressed in the borrowed towels and was steadily drying off and shivering a little. Scarred skin rising up in goosebumps as Ren's eyes flickered over the scars he had previously thought were just the product of Mafia life, Heir Training, etc. Knowing that Harry wasn't in the mafia, or being trained... he felt a little sick looking at them now. Civilians shouldn't be hurt like that, they were supposed to be soft, stupid, slow, and _safe_. Harry was hard, sharp, and scarred in a way that would make Famiglias sit up and take notice even if he weren't a Sky. There was just... _something_ about the way he held himself, looked at people.

Harry gathered up his fallen clothing, unhooking his shirt from one of the wall decorations and vanished into the bathroom to change. Ren stared at the food in his lap, no longer hungry, the pasta in his mouth suddenly tasteless and dry. He swallowed it down with difficulty and piled it with Harry's own dirty dishes.

What now? When he'd first gotten onto the ship it felt like nothing could go wrong ever again, he had a Sky, they could spend the whole voyage to Mafia Land talking about their future, fucking like rabbits, actually getting to know each other, but now... Now it had all fallen down around his ears and they had a further week before they made dock with Mafia Land off the coast of Africa where it was currently drifting down towards the Indian Ocean. Typically it drifted in the Philippine Sea, sometimes just outside the Bay of Bengal or in the stretch of ocean between Australia and New Zealand. Though he did remember the two or so years where it drifted across the Pacific and from the Gulf of Alaska down the west coast of America to the Falkland Islands. There was talk of spending some time drifting around the Caribbean sea as well, maybe the Gulf of Mexico, but at the moment that was just talk. The American Navy and Coast Guard were surprisingly tuned in, and difficult to bribe. Last he heard, the head honchos of the park were contemplating just having the whole lot whacked and just sliding their own people in there.

Ren didn't think it would work but then again he was just a Journeyman Hitman. What did he know about the finer aspects of politics?

The bathroom door opened and Harry trudged out, he was frowning slightly, thinking.

But he was _thinking_ , Ren perked up a little, there might still be hope.

"I'm going outside," the green eyed Sky told him flatly, "I need to... think, about this, us," he stated before leaving the room. Leaving Ren with his slowly deflating hope that he would be coming off the ship with a Sky tucked against his side.

Harry followed the corridor down to the door outside, the seagull was gone when he stepped outside, as were the weird watching eyes. He stepped out onto the deck, looking around. To him, it was a fairly large ship, bigger than Durmstrang's if only because it didn't have the expansion charms inside of it to hold all the students. It looked, for all intensive purposes, like a normal ferry – like the kind he rode on as a kid on a school trip to Le Havre in France. There were two levels above him, one was for passengers, the one on top was crew only so he assumed that was where the captain's room was, control, and the radio office.

He could hear voices now, which was reassuring. Apart from the feeling of eyes watching him earlier, he hadn't seen another living soul, and had no evidence that there was anyone actually piloting the ship they were on. It seemed to be coming from above him though, on the second floor.

"- young pup brought a Sky on board, can you believe it?" a woman was scoffing, scandalised.

"What on earth would a _Sky_ be doing on a rinky-dink like this? Surely he would have chartered the cruise liner, it stops off at Portsmouth in just two days," another woman exclaimed in confusion.

"Seemed to me the boy was running away. Nothing but the clothes on his back and only the one Guardian at his side," a man's voice stated coolly.

"You don't think -" one of the women gasped.

"They can't be eloping, can they?" the other woman squealed.

Harry frowned, it _sounded_ like they were talking about him and Ren but... what was a Sky? And which one were they referring to? Well, from the sounds of it... They were referring to _him_ as the 'Sky', and Ren as his 'Guardian'. Did they mean bodyguard or something? Because there was no way they meant legal guardian. Ren wasn't much older than him, and it was _pretty_ clear that what they were getting up to would be so many different kinds of illegal if they were. Though, with the whole hitman/Mafia thing in mind, would they even care if it was?

Scowling, he kept walking. He needed to be alone, get his head screwed on properly, actually think this whole situation through. He made his way to the back of the ship, dodging past rigging lines, shipping equipment, hatches, and poles, the sea breeze was nice, taking off the dull sting of the hot summer sun as it seeped through his T-shirt. He climbed the short few steps up to the back and leaned against the railings, half hanging over them as he stared down at the churning ocean below. It was darker than he thought it'd be. He'd always imagined the ocean to be blue and green, like the pictures and postcards Aunt Petunia would look at in travel catalogues or from Aunt Marge in Majorca.

They probably weren't too far away from England... Should he risk underage magic? Wait until the Aurors showed up to arrest him and plead extenuating circumstances? Beg for help back to England? Could he risk it? He stared down at the seafoam churned up by the ship's propellers, catching flashes of dark seaweed in the dull black-green water below.

Renato was a murderer for hire. An assassin, hitman.

He killed people for money.

He was part of a _guild_ that did the same! On an island full of people who did the same, and other things – some of which were _worse_!

But... he also... his feet were ticklish, he had dimples when he smiled, he was so awful at flirting it was hilarious, he could _not_ take compliments, and was so bad at expressing himself that he ended up flailing and spluttering, red faced and flapping in embarrassment. He waved his arms, and twitched his legs like a dog getting his belly scratched, he was _so_ expressive and enthusiastic and -

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, grimacing in pain. Renato was likeable, loveable even, and Harry's morals were now in direct conflict with his growing affection for the Italian teenager.

This wasn't fair.

Why did Ren even have to _say_ anything about his job? It wasn't like Harry would have asked about it, he was seventeen! What seventeen year old had a job outside fastfood or paper-routes? ...What seventeen year old _needed_ a job beyond fastfood and paper-routes...?

He sighed, draping himself across the railings and staring out at the horizon as they chugged onwards, the sound of the ocean churning beneath him, the mechanical roar of the engines drowning out the occasional call of a seagull that decided to fly out with the ship and was now stuck with them as it couldn't fly back to land. It looked like he was going to be chewing over this not so little moral dilemma for a while.

 _ **000**_

Ren watched over his Sky from a distance, giving him his much needed space, but still protecting him from anyone who might get any ideas about approaching him. Glaring down intruders until they got the idea that they weren't welcome. Thankfully he hadn't had to do anything more yet, but he had his guns with him, flashing them would ensure Harry was left alone as he tried to sort himself out and come to a decision about their current circumstances. He didn't particularly _want_ to use them, what with Harry's opinion on his job right now, but hopefully a glimpse of the consequences would discourage anything further than just the current watching from afar.

He _longed_ to go over and stake his claim – show them that Harry was _taken_ as both his boyfriend and his Guardian, so they'd best roll their tongues back in and start looking elsewhere. But Harry's still Active flame was currently resonating with a hefty flavouring of Cloud right now, enough so that Renato didn't want to disturb him. Was nervous, _scared_ , of disturbing him right now. Clouds were notorious for their foul tempers if they felt that someone had intruded upon their personal space. And Harry right now was feeling extra threatened and out of his depth because he was far away from home, unarmed, and completely at Renato's mercy.

The hitman grimaced, wanting to hit himself. He had completely jumped the gun earlier when Harry agreed to run away with him, sleepily slurring that he was already in the process of doing so. He needed to plan things out better. His mentor was going to beat him black and blue for not only being so ungentlemanly, but also discourteous to a Sky of all people. Dragging him away to Mafia Land without a weapon (unless that odd blunt stake of his counted?), and only the clothes on his back? That was legally classified as kidnapping no matter what country you were in, only made somewhat foggier by the fact that he was a run-away who agreed to it, though how 'under the influence' he was from Ren's Sun Flame and their very sudden Harmonization was debatable and now made him feel like _so_ many different kinds of scum for not even considering while he was hauling the exhausted young Sky through the streets of England from Surrey to Southampton in order to catch the small 'private' (re: Mafia Land) passenger ship. Just how the hell were the Higher Ups in Mafia Land going to react to this incident? How were the other famiglias going to react? Renato did _not_ have the finances to care for a Sky like he _should_ , and while he had no doubt that Harry wouldn't care, the old fashioned mafioso, the ones who believed that Skies were inherently royalty and should be treated as such, around them would certainly have a thing or several to say and _beat_ him with for the perceived inadequate care of his Sky.

Should they perhaps skip Mafia Land entirely? He wondered anxiously, shooting a dark glare at a Lightning User who had been playing with his mobile phone, using the still unreleased technology to hide his attempts to sneak closer to Harry. The young Sun kicked a heel back, banging it into the metal supports behind him and startling the phone-fiddler enough for him to actually look up and realise that he'd been caught in the act. A classic Lightning User then, because he grimaced, fluttered a bit, but ultimately shuffled back where he came from, leaving Renato once again to his thoughts.

No, he couldn't skip out of Mafia Land immediately after landing, not with a Sky in his care. There would be a lot of rumours and if they ran off immediately, they would most certainly take a turn for the sour and Renato did _not_ want any kind of reputation linking him to anything related to Human Trafficking. That could get him banned from Mafia Land entirely, and hunted down by his own Guild Mates. Due to the fact that Mafia Land tended to attract and deal with a great deal of Flame-Using famiglias, they couldn't afford to allow Human Trafficking or Drug Trafficking to occur on the island, it would be only too easy for someone to then stupidly start snatching and hoarding Flame Users and Actives. There were a lot of homeless children in Mafia Land, brats who ran away from their families for whatever reason, children whose parents had gotten in touch with crime elements and handed over the kids for whatever reason, the reasons varied but the results remained the same. The kids ended up dumped in a marginally friendly neutral zone and given a cryptic demand to make themselves Useful before anyone would bother with them. To the kids who had no idea about flames, they often ended up striking out in entirely the wrong directions to try and garner that label. Slightly cruel when thought about, but they were Mafia. No one could claim they were nice, kind on occasion, perhaps, but not nice.

He should talk to Harry about his Flame. If he was Active about to become Useful then he would need some training before he ended up Reaching for a Flame that would get him burnt. Or drew someone that Renato couldn't protect him from (he was good, _damn good_ , but he was still young, still up and coming, and he hadn't yet truly found himself challenged by anything so had yet to significantly improve on what his mentor had built. He was under no illusions that he was a fairly small fish in some truly deep shark infested waters).

The problem was that he didn't particularly want to risk the temper of a Cloud. Renato had only seen a Cloud in a temper twice, and both instances had left a _lasting_ impression. Skies could resonate any Flame on the spectrum as will, but with considerably less purity than the original Users. Harry's cloudy-flavour at present was _very_ strong, enough so that if everyone on the ship hadn't already known he was a Sky, he could easily be mistaken for one of the violet flame users, and it was making him break out in a nervous sweat. The last Cloud he'd met had been a Classic Hard type, very self-contained, quiet, antisocial and generally quite unassuming in appearance, almost _delicate_ looking; sat quietly in the back corner of a bar in Defenestration Street, he had been minding his own business when a drunken Storm who'd gotten a little too deep in his drink decided to start an argument and poke the Cloud's non-existent patience.

They were still rebuilding Defenestration Street as the fight that broke out tore buildings clear from their foundations, and then shattered said foundations along with them.

The other instant had been a young, bubbly Cloud-girl, a Polarized Hard User who had only just become useful, and was thus hyper off her own Flame. A young man he recalled as being a fairly strong, if dumb as a box of rocks Sun Active had been trying without success to flirt with her. Even going so far as to risk getting into her personal space. Miss Bubbles hadn't paid him any mind until he lost his temper and slammed a fist down on the table to force her attention. That had been when the young Cloud decided he had been picking a fight and promptly grew both horns and teeth in the worst possible way, she kicked his ass up and down the docks before deciding that she quite liked him. She then dragged him home by the ankle like a cavewoman. They were often seen together afterwards, the poor Sun looking positively _abused_ but quite happy with his psycho-murder happy little girlfriend.

So no. No, Renato decided he would be keeping his distance until he could be reasonably certain he wouldn't get on the wrong side of a particularly angry Cloud.

So he waited. And waited. And waited some more... and waited even longer.

Harry didn't so much as twitch from the railing for the rest of the day. And even with his stomach practically snarling dire threats of pain and violence to him for going so long without eating, Harry stayed sprawled across the back railings, so Ren stayed not too far away, unobtrusively watching his back, and ignoring his hunger pangs with increasing desperation. Goddamn Sun metabolism.

He didn't risk approaching until it started getting dark, and the ocean breeze began to get uncomfortably cool, even for him in his suit jacket. Harry hadn't noticed even though there were goose-bumps decorating his skin. He was very deep in his thoughts, that or spacing out as he stared down at the ocean below. He didn't even notice Renato tentatively creeping closer until the Sun stripped out of his jacket and draped it gently over his shoulders.

The Gryffindor jolted, twitching and turning to stare at him.

Renato smiled a little sickly at him, "Are you hungry?" he asked, even as both of their stomachs let out plaintive whines to be fed in unison.

 _ **000**_

Thankfully, Harry didn't take his head off, or even glare. They went below deck, further down the corridor than their room and into the Mess. A regular canteen with a small handsome little wooden bar in the nearest corner. It was somewhat reassuring and a little gratifying when Harry shifted a little closer to him when almost every eye in the room turned to watch them as they came in. Turned to watch _Harry_ as he came in.

For all of a moment, Renato thought Harry was seeking reassurance from him, until he noticed the young Sky's hand curling towards that blunt stake he had hidden within his pocket and realised that he was becoming defensive, trying to _protect_ him, even as he stalked forward with his head held high. It was even kind of confusing when ignoring that. Why wasn't he _more_ disturbed/uncomfortable with the attention? Sure he was tense. But he wasn't scared, or anxious, or really disturbed by it, more... annoyed, resigned, and uncomfortable than anything else.

He seemed used to it more than anything, Renato realised as they collected their trays in silence and got in line for the hot-counter.

Almost immediately the man in front of them moved to let Harry pass. The Sky stubbornly stayed exactly where he was and glared at him. Renato bit his lower lip in a mixture of amusement and horror. This could go badly or well.

" _Um, please, you first, Young Master,_ " the man said in nervous Italian, bowing his head and gesturing Harry to stand in front of him. The Sky narrowed his eyes and Renato coughed a little into his fist.

" _My apologies, but he does not speak Italian,_ " the Sun politely informed the older gentleman, deciding that he'd best take control of the situation before it got out of hand. " _Also, it is impolite to cut in line where he is from, even with permission. So he will wait his turn, quite stubbornly so, I'm afraid,_ " he explained with a fond smile to the now frowning Sky who was eyeing him in wary confusion.

"Ah, British then, my apologies, Young Master!" the man declared with a smile, "Not many Skies in England, what famiglia are you from?" he asked brightly, he wasn't a particularly attractive specimen, solidly late thirties and already both balding and slightly overweight with dark salt and pepper hair, and aggressively clean shaven, clad in a typical charcoal grey suit, it was obviously cheap and slightly too small, straining a little at the buttons and pinching unattractively at the shoulders.

Renato immediately bristled, his hackles raising almost violently at the man's question. Enough so for him to physically flinch back and Harry's perplexed frown to become an outright scowl of hostility. "Not one that you or anyone else will know of," the Sky informed him coldly before looking up at Renato and handing over his tray, "Suddenly I'm not so hungry anymore. Carry on without me," he grumbled.

"I'll bring something back for you. Orange juice again?" the Sun asked instead of going with him as he wanted to – because he _needed_ to eat, they _both_ had to eat.

Harry nodded before shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking out of the silent mess hall.

Renato offered a mild smile to everyone present, " _Any questions regarding my Sky will be met with a bullet. Roll your tongues back in and mind your own business,_ " he told them benignly, even as his hands glittered and bubbled with fizzing Sun flame. He melted the trays in his hands annoyingly, having to flick his fingers in order to remove the last of the now liquid plastic to join the pile of slag on the floor, but he felt that his threat was done well. Certainly no one was challenging him.

The man who had caused the incident looked half an inch from fainting and practically wilted in place as he quickly fled the line and back to his table, without any food. Renato made no comment on his cowardice. Instead he collected another tray, and silently went along the line, collecting enough food for himself, and Harry along with a pitcher of orange juice and two cups.

"Are all Mafia types that rude?" Harry demanded shortly from where he had been glaring out of the window when he returned to their room.

Renato offered a wan smirk as he put the tray and pitcher down, "The lower-rungs are, yes. Especially given what you are, they will be falling all over themselves to gain your attention, and hopefully your favour," he explained as he handed Harry the plate he piled up.

The Gryffindor grimaced, "And what am I, exactly? I heard some people talking outside, something about Skies and Guardians."

The hitman grimaced as he poured a glass of juice and handed it over as well, "Ahh, I hadn't thought – I assumed you were at least _aware_ – never mind. How to explain...?" he trailed off carefully as he poured himself a glass and sat down, sipping thoughtfully as Harry began to pick through his mushroom risotto. "This'll take a while so just keep eating, I'll answer any questions later so, uh, just... yeah.

"Basically, there's two worlds. The one you're from, the law-abiding world where people live out their happy little lives, buy their cars, obey the law, everything is sunny and happy, and generally awful things don't happen all that much," Renato explained, trying not to read anything into the suddenly sceptical and scornful look of disbelief that twisted over his Sky's face, "And then there's the underworld, full of gangmen, Mafioso, criminals, etc. Well, there's two sides to that Mafia world too. The regular one and the Flame Using one.

"Flames are high-density energy manifested through human will-power, determination. You've heard those stories about people able to bust out superman style strength and speed yeah? Most put it down to adrenalin and sometimes they're not wrong. But other times, that's when your Dying Will squeaks out to give you a helping hand. Your last wish before your death and the energy and determination to do it even at the cost of your life is what Dying Will Flames manifest from. There are seven different types, all of which correspond to your personality, and have unique abilities in of themselves. Sky, Sun, Storm, Rain, Lightning, Mist, and Cloud. A lot of crime families are built around people with these abilities and look intensely for others who also have them. We are very rare, less than half of a percent of the world's total population have the ability to Use their Flames, but where there is one there tend to be more depending on the type of Flame.

"I have a Sun Flame," he explained holding up a palmful of bubbling and fizzing canary yellow light. Harry blinked staring at it from around a mouthful of his risotto. That gave off a _very_ similar feeling to whatever it was that Ren kept doing to make his head swim and his nerves jangle with arousal. "Sun flames have the ability of Activation, so, with them I could activate cellular mitosis and heal various injuries, even put them into overdrive and create tumours, or activate the immune system and turn your very blood against your own body, or... as I was doing earlier, tickle it along the edges of your nerves to make you feel good," he explained with a blush and a grin. "But it comes with downsides, because I'm a Sun, I'm incredibly active, I have to be up and moving and doing things. I eat like a horse because my metabolism is in hyperdrive at all times, I don't sleep much because I don't tend to run out of energy.

"Each Flame type has a spectrum, though most identify on the extreme ends of each scale more easily. Classic flame types are the more common, which for a Sun would mean that they're messy, into everything, physically unable to remain still, and while they're not exactly fussy about whom they spend their time with, they have a tendency to forget people whom do not make an impression as soon as they leave. I am of the opposite spectrum, Polarized, meaning that I am highly driven, focused, and, to put it bluntly, a snob regarding whom I associate with. It is the difference between sunlight through a window, or through a magnifying glass.

"Each Flame type has a Classic and a Polarized extreme, with a spectrum inbetween. Rare is the individual who sits in the middle of either point, most gravitate to one extreme or another. In there, you have Soft flames and Hard flames, which have nothing to do with your personality but rather what your flames are best suited towards. Hard type flames are primarily combat based as they have a greater external use, Soft flames make for greater support based applications. As a Sun User, I can use soft flames to encourage healing. Hard flames to do things like make things explode or create lasers." He paused then, looking a little disgruntled, "You _can_ use both types of Flame, hard and soft, but you will always find one much more easy to use and control, that typically indicates to the unimaginative and easily led which type of skill set you're best suited for."

There was a story there, and Harry was pretty certain he knew what it was. "You're a soft flame User, aren't you?" Harry asked, fighting back the small grin he could feel twitching at the corner of his lips because, _really?_ "Only you decided you didn't like the idea that you _had_ to be a healer, and decided to go into assassination instead to prove them otherwise. ' _Challenge Accepted_ ', or just to poke them in the eye."

Renato flushed as he scowled at the far wall, "It is... frustrating. My uncle was highly disappointed to learn that I was a Polarized Soft type, enough so that he refused to deal with our side of the family. My mother broke his spine in two places and shattered his jaw, he was shitting out his own teeth for two months before Grandmother took pity on him and regenerated his them so he could eat without having his food poured out of a blender. Mother was a Classic hard Mist, she more than anyone understood that the cards you're dealt at birth are not as important as when and how you use them. She taught me how to fight herself, I was thirteen when I beat my uncle in a fight at a family gathering, in front of everyone. Soft flame type Suns are primarily seen as healers, like you said, but that doesn't interest me."

It was then he realised that _he_ hadn't actually done anything to discourage anyone from approaching Harry earlier, that had all been the distinctly _Cloudy_ flavour to his flame keeping them away. More than likely, they hadn't seen him as a threat at all – at least until he focused enough flame into his hands to turn hard plastic into liquid in front of them, without a focus, without a display of temper, or even a sign of strain. Well, if they hadn't been wary of him before, they definitely were _now_ , and that was good enough for him.

"And, what do Mists do?" Harry asked curiously as he sipped his orange juice.

"Mists are illusionists, their flames have the ability to Create. Mother tended to bring forward illusions of monsters and weapons to fight for her. They packed quite a punch and were strong enough to be solid. The only soft Mist skill she could use was a form of mental torture, which she did not like to use. Trapping her opponent in their own worst nightmare until their minds broke was messy and wasteful according to her. She didn't bother to use her flames to beat her brother into a liquid diet though, didn't need to, the women in my family are _terrifying._

"You're actually two different flame types rolled into one. Both of which are absurdly rare. I don't know you well enough yet to say where you fall on the spectrum of either, and your flames aren't yet Useful, but you're a Sky. That means you're practically royalty, hence why everyone was staring at you earlier. Sky is the rarest flame-type. Cloud is the next rarest, and you also possess that flame type to a shocking degree, enough so that it isn't just your Sky flame resonating along that frequency, but an actual extra flame type you produce yourself." He hadn't been able to tell so much earlier, but being next to Harry right now, and earlier when the Cloudy-flavour of his flame suddenly ratcheted up several notches after that fucking moron in the mess hall asked him about his non-existent famiglia, he could sense it clear as day. Harry had two flame types, much like the Vongola Secundo was rumoured to have. Skies were rare, multi-faceted Skies were in an even greater minority amongst them!

"Skies are... Have you ever heard the tale of King Arthur?" he asked, deciding to change tracks. The look Harry gave him more than suggested what he thought of that question. Of course it was stupid, Harry was British, not Italian. "King Arthur and his Knights are a classic example of a Sky and his Guardians. All the flames are named after a weather phenomenon, so it stands to reason that none of them can exist or come to their full potential or even co-exist peacefully without a Sky. Skies are the glue that hold flame Users together. Our leaders, they give us a place to belong and be ourselves, in return, we protect the Skies. It's symbiotic as, due to our powers and clashing personalities, there are occasions when flame users just _will_ not get along, no matter what. Clouds and Mists are the worst for it. Classic Mists and Classic Clouds rarely get along as Clouds of that polarity prefer to keep to themselves, while Mists of that polarity enjoy needling and messing with the perceptions of others, they typically end up picking up a whole host of annoying little habits and quirks which do little more than get all over Clouds' nerves. Hence why fights often break out without a Sky to smooth a Cloud's ruffled feathers, and give a Mist something more interesting to play with.

"People are going to want to get closer to you, some of them might even get violent about it, which is why most Skies need Guardians. It isn't that they can't defend themselves, but sometimes they end up drawing the attention of either too many people, or just aren't pre-disposed to kill first and bother about questions later," Renato finished explaining with an apologetic grimace.

Harry did _not_ look happy, " _Why_?" he demanded shortly, "I'm just some fifteen year old, Sky or not, why the hell would they want anything to do with me? They don't _know_ me!"

Renato sighed, "Becoming a Guardian is a position of great honour, but Skies aren't royalty because they're just born to the position, they're royalty because Skies are the _best_ at it. People want to be close to Skies the same way they want to be closed to celebrities or royalty, because they admire them, and because they have power. Harry, if we hadn't met, likely as not you would have become the voice of your generation, their leader. Skies make things happen, they draw people to them like moths to flames, they're natural leaders either through design or accident. You could pretty much say that they're catalysts for change and adventure, or even conflict depending on the Sky."

He swore, violently, "Any way to get rid of this flame thing?" he asked without much hope.

Renato shook his head, "No. It's tied into your very soul."

Harry slumped against the wall, glaring out of the porthole as he shifted his hands on his glass, "Fucking great."

 _ **000**_

 **And done~**

 **Okay, bit of a further info dump on mine and Wifey's flame headcanons. And she's freaking out that I might get accused of plagiarising Russian Roulette (which if you haven't read yet, I definitely recommend. It explores a lot more of the flame ring and stone aspect than I do and Vixen Tail's got some pretty awesome headcanon stuff herself), so I'm clearing up this issue here and now.**

 **Classic and Polarization terms in regards to flame and personality are concepts that Reighost and I have headcanoned.**

 **Hard flame and soft flame are CANON to the KHR manga. I can't say if they go into it at all in the anime as I haven't seen it, but it is brought up within the manga that Tsuna uses Hard type flames to attack, and Soft type flames to support himself. X-burner is a Hard flame ability using soft flames to soften the recoil. (I also headcanon that Hyper Intuition is a Soft Flame skill as well) By saying that one of the Clouds Renato met was a Polarized Hard type, I'm pretty much saying she was a social cloud who was a combat specialist. As opposed to Skull who would be a Polarized Soft type, a social support type.**

 **In mine and Rei's headcanons, hard/soft have nothing to do with personality, rather more just what a person MIGHT specialise in (Renato is a soft Sun, he** _ **should**_ **be a healer but lol no, challenge accepted, watch me burn the world). Classic-Middling-Polarized are to do with personality, those being just the three main points of polarity in the spectrum. And lastly, Purity is how** _ **concentrated**_ **that flame is. How strong it is, and how much concentration the wielder is putting into it.**

 **I know I've been saying for months now that I will knock out a Flame Manual of mine and Rei's headcanons, and I'm actually making some headway into that, so I promise it will eventually be posted up.**

The headcanon for Renato's family is however mine, XDDD Wifey wasn't 100% certain she liked what little information I came up with earlier, she hasn't even read the info I just put into this chapter so she's in for a surprise when she wakes up.

If I die, I want you all to know, I think Batman is overrated and boring.


	4. Chapter 4

_**000**_

 **Playing With Fire**

 _ **000**_

Harry notices some oddities to his mind and memories, gaps and misunderstandings and things that just don't add up. When everything is said and done, he goes to a Healer, and learns that Dumbledore's manipulations run a lot deeper than anyone could have imagined. Reborn/Harry.

 _ **000**_

 _I do not own Harry Potter, or Katekyo Hitman REBORN. I'm just playing in the sandbox._

 _ **000**_

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

He knew he probably shouldn't have been there.

But he couldn't stand another minute in that tiny cabin with his thoughts. Of course, now he was out _here_ with his thoughts, but it no longer quite felt so claustrophobic. Harry sighed, propping his head up on his hand as he stared at the polished brass taps of the ship's bar in the faint light from the corridor outside. He'd snuck out in the wee hours of the morning, slipping free of the bed and lightly stepping over Renato who had decided to sleep on the floor than risk crawling in with him. Harry would have felt guilty, and he did, but the Italian had dragged him out of England and was now taking him into a hive of scum and villainy. He didn't feel guilty or charitable enough to have him within the same bed as him at this _particular_ moment in time (he wanted him in the bed, but alas, both morals and pride were at war with affection and teenage hormones. It wasn't a pretty fight). He'd snuck into the closed and darkened mess just to sit and think without having the Italian hovering like a nervous puppy in his shadow.

He imagined this would go better if someone was actually there to serve alcohol.

He snorted quietly to himself, like anyone would actually serve a fifteen year old alcohol, 'Sky' or not. Somehow he also doubted that the alcohol would help him deal with this situation either, as much as he hoped that it would.

No matter how he rationalised this mess, all of his morals, everything he had been taught by those around him, said that he should ditch Renato and run for it, summon the Aurors and have him arrested. The problem there though... was that he just didn't _want_ to. He _liked_ Renato, and didn't want to leave, or get him in trouble. And that there, started another moral dilemma.

He didn't care as much as he thought he _should_ have when it came to Renato being a Hitman for Hire.

He wondered if he even completely _understood_ what it meant given his lack of care for it, yes on an intellectual level he knew and understood, but did he _actually_ understand? He wasn't so sure. Dumbledore, Hermione, _Ron_ , would have been ashamed of him for wanting to stay with Ren, for being selfish, for leaving England when he knew Voldemort was back, for worrying them like this.

But a small part of him, vicious, selfish indeed, _Slytherin_ , told him to screw Dumbledore and his poxy war. Harry didn't _ask_ to be involved, they forced him! Them and whatever thrice damned backwards ass reason they had that they wouldn't _tell_ him about! They forced him by throwing him at Voldemort time and time again because they either weren't there, or didn't listen, or someone was in danger. He hadn't been given any choice! Well, now he _did_! Didn't he?

He had Renato.

He had been expelled from Hogwarts, so nothing was really tying him to England anymore. His Uncle had thrown him out onto the streets with only the clothes on his back, and he wasn't so materialistic to care about anything beyond maybe his photo-album, Firebolt, and Invisibility Cloak simply because of the emotional connections he had through them. Only his friends remained – his friends who would join in on trying to convince him to fight a Dark Lord fifty years his senior that he had no chance in beating because of his fucking substandard education. For fuck's sake, a different Defence Professor _every_ year? And only two of them being worth their pay-cheque? ONE OF THEM WAS A MERLIN DAMNED DEATH EATER! He would die if he faced Voldemort.

And for what?

A country full of sheep that thought he was an attention seeking lunatic, in a fight he hadn't even started.

Harry scowled darkly, fuck that, he concluded. And anyone that tried to force him back.

He'd made his choice. Now, he just had to live with it.

 _ **000**_

Renato was still sleeping when Harry crept back into the room, his lanky frame sprawled out through the tiny sliver of floor space between the bed and bathroom door, limbs akimbo, and his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. He would get a nasty crick like that, Harry noted as he lingered in the doorway staring down at his face only faintly illuminated from the deck lights through the porthole window.

He couldn't help but crack a smile. A bitter mixture of affection and resentment in equal measure, his stomach churning as he watched the rise and fall of the teenager's bare chest.

This was the person he picked over everyone else in England, in his world. Over Ron and Hermione, over Sirius and Remus, over the memory of his parents.

He picked Renato, and the slim chance of a future. A future where he might live to see beyond his twentieth birthday.

He carefully stepped over the Hitman's sprawled legs, and dragged the bedding off onto the floor, he gently took the jacket that Ren had been using as a blanket away and threw it onto the bed even as he carefully tucked the teenager into the white and blue duvet. He didn't stir, even when Harry shifted his head to slid the pillow under him. Then, Harry squirmed in beside him, he was just about small enough to make it work in the infinitesimal space, pressed tightly against the older teenager's side.

He propped his head up on an elbow and watched him. And wondered just what kind of magic he had cast to make him care like this... to care enough in the scant day, two days, he had known him, over Ron and Hermione despite their many years and life threatening circumstances? Over Ron who could make him laugh no matter what, who knew his favourite foods, how he liked his tea, that Harry was always an early riser unless he wasn't feeling well, his best Quidditch Plays, where to stand in a fight to have his back; over Hermione who could take one look at his face and know exactly what he felt even when he himself didn't, who knew exactly what bothered him and how best to resolve it, who kept her head even when he lost his but had to pretend otherwise, who shored him up and never forgot what he needed help with or what homework he hadn't yet done because of this or that asinine reason.

Perhaps it was _because_ they didn't have that shared history that it was... easier. There was no expectation between them. He didn't know about the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't expect Harry to save him from Voldemort, or be the perfect Golden Boy. Harry was allowed to be... Harry. Even when Ron and Hermione couldn't let him. He sighed quietly and pressed a kiss to the teenager's forehead and settled down beside him properly, cheek on his shoulder. He would worry about it in the morning, when he could ask Ren about it properly.

He fell asleep to the feeling of the other teenager sleepily drawing him closer, wrapping him in warmth, like sunlight on a hot summer's day.

 _ **0000**_

 **I know this Chapter is shamefully small, but I honestly can't come out with anything more. This was just such a lovely place to leave it off that I had to. Bunny doesn't want this chapter to have any more content. Fic is still on-going, but this chapter is done. Merry Christmas! 8)**

 **As part of your Pressies this holiday, I have updated the following fics:**

 **Niflheim Academy  
Against My Nature  
Echoes of Green  
Storming Skies  
Protectors  
Playing with Fire  
Hand You're Dealt**


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